Christian's Story
by Evanne Martine Hall
Summary: This is the story of what happens to Christian after Satine's death on opening night, starting with the morning he finishes writing their story. It is complete! Please, if you review it, I'll write some other stuff, too!
1. Voices from the Past

Satine and Christian stood hand in hand behind the curtain. Christian smiled broadly at her, and she smiled back, but she knew something was wrong. The audience had risen out of their seats in a thunderous standing ovation - just what she had always wanted. As she listened, trying to drink it all in, her heartbeat grew louder in her ears, and her breath became harder to draw. Suddenly, her head fell back, and she collapsed into Christian's arms.  
  
"Satine," he said, "Satine, darling, what's the matter?"  
  
Satine coughed, a thin trickle of blood running from her mouth. Christian gently touched his thumb to it in disbelief. The beautiful Satine, his Diamond, was dying. He began to cry.  
  
"Christian, I'm dying," Satine whispered. Christian shook his head. Satine fell silent again and Christian yelled, "Somebody get some help!" Marie ran off for the doctor.  
  
Satine made a few squeaking, rasping noises. Christian shushed her. "It'll be all right." Satine breathed, "You've got to go on, Christian." Christian's tears filled his eyes and blurred his vision. He caught his breath in his throat and forced it out in these thick words: "I can't go on without you."  
  
His beloved just smiled lightly and shook her head. "Tell our story, Christian." Christian was speechless. He searched her face, looking for a sign that she would get better. But he never found it. Christian broke down and sobbed.  
  
The audience cheered, oblivious to the tragedy, while behind the curtain the beautiful ones, the players, bowed their heads in sorrow.  
  
One Year Later . . . .  
  
Christian turned from his typewriter to stare blankly out of his window. He hadn't shut it since she had gone, and the curtains, once white with pride, were yellow with age and exposure to the elements. The broken, weathered, motionless wings of the Moulin Rouge stared blankly back at him. Where there were once brilliant lights there were empty bulb sockets. The courtyard was littered with broken beams and leaves from the old trees that dotted the site. Christian's eyes welled up with tears as her beautiful voice filled his head:  
  
Suddenly the world seemed such a perfect place,  
  
Suddenly it moved at such a perfect pace.  
  
Suddenly my life didn't seem such a waste.  
  
It all revolved around you.  
  
A tear fell from his beautiful, sorrow-filled, green eyes. He blinked rapidly, tearing his eyes away from the decaying old building. He stood up from his chair, wrapped his jacket around himself, and swallowed a glass of absinthe. He pinned the final page of their story on the last open space on the wall, and laid down on his bed. He closed his eyes, but all he could see was her face.  
  
Suddenly, there was a knock at his door. Christian reluctantly got out of his bed and pulled open the door.  
  
"Hullo, Kwistian," came a quiet voice from two and a half feet below Christian's face. A subdued Toulouse smiled weakly up at his friend. Christian stepped back and let the midget in. Toulouse looked around at the walls covered with paper. He knew immediately what had happened.  
  
"Kwistian, I'm so sorry," he said simply, placing his hat on the bed. "I suppose you don't feel like going out." Toulouse sat down on the bed. Christian walked right past Toulouse and onto the balcony. Words from another time entered his head:  
  
"The courtesan convinces him that she doesn't love him. 'Thank you for curing me of my ridiculous obsession with love!' says the penniless sitar player, throwing money at her feet and fleeing the kingdom forever!"  
  
Christian's head lifted as he heard her speak. "But a life without love, that's terrible!" she exclaimed, laughing.  
  
The voices faded into the background. Christian leaned onto the railing, as if he couldn't support his own weight. His eyes closed slowly, and he exhaled deeply. He would never be able to get over this sorrow.  
  
Toulouse came to stand beside Christian.  
  
"You know," he said, "You don't have to stay here. I believe the ones that we love never leave us. She will be with you always."  
  
Christian nearly fell to the ground as her voice came into his head again.  
  
"One day I'll fly away,  
  
Leave all this to yesterday.  
  
Why live life from dream to dream  
  
And dread the day when dreaming ends?"  
  
He pushed himself off the railing and went to lie down on his bed again. Toulouse followed him, picked up his hat, then turned to leave.  
  
"I'll be just down the hall if you want to talk," he said, quietly shutting the door.  
  
Christian closed his eyes and forced himself asleep. He dreamt of her.  
  
He was chasing her through the Moulin Rouge - up and down hallways, in and out of dressing rooms. She was wearing a beautiful, pink dress and had her long red hair pulled up into a twist on the back of her head. She laughed as they ran, and he laughed. She raced outside and it took him a few moments to follow after her. When he found her, she was walking through a patch of meadow behind the buildings, singing an all-too familiar song:  
  
Never knew I could feel like this,  
  
Like I've never seen the sky before.  
  
Want to vanish inside your kiss.  
  
Every day I'm loving you  
  
More and more.  
  
Listen to my heart,  
  
Can you hear it sing?  
  
Telling me to give you everything.  
  
Seasons may change,  
  
Winter to spring,  
  
But I love you  
  
'Til the end of time.  
  
Christian turned in his sleep, and a single tear fell through his closed eyes. His dream of the Sparkling Diamond went on. 


	2. The Window

Christian awoke the following morning to another knock on his door. This time it was the landlady, yelling that he had missed his rent again that month, and was about to evict him. Christian barely rolled over, too wrought with sorrow to care. He had relived the best and worst part of his life the night before, and was still reeling from the wounds. He glanced out of the window and saw the sun above the windmill. It had to have been around noon. Christian decided to get up.  
  
He threw his jacket on over his shirt and went to the balcony. He slipped on the shoes he had left there the last time he went out, and managed to climb down the drainpipe. Once his feet hit the ground, he turned toward away from the Moulin Rouge and began to walk.  
  
As his feet carried him on, several young girls with painted eyes and lips with their hair piled up on top of their heads approached him. One, a blonde, was smoking a cigarette. Her friends, a brunette and two redheads, came up and leaned on Christian. The blonde spoke.  
  
"You look lonely, monsieur," she said in a slightly childish, seductive voice, "Perhaps we may be of assistance." She traced his shoulder with her index finger, having dropped the cigarette. Christian looked into her eyes.  
  
"What's your name?" he asked softly. The blonde smiled.  
  
"Karrinne," she whispered, running her hand down his arm.  
  
"How old are you?" he asked quietly. The prostitute looked taken aback.  
  
"I am how ever old you want me to be," she purred, reaching up to play with his hair.  
  
Christian grabbed her wrist lightly to stop her hand and persisted. "I want you to be how old you are," he said.  
  
The girl looked rather shocked, but answered, "I am nineteen." Christian let go of her arm with a look of pity and pain. So young, he thought. He took a fistful of bank notes from his pocket and held them out to her. She took them and smiled.  
  
"That is more than enough, monsieur," she said as she began to pull him into a nearby building. Christian stopped her.  
  
"I don't want your services," he spoke simply, "I am giving you that money to start you in a life in which you need not sell yourself to men that walk these terrible streets. I, too, am a sufferer of the death of the Bohemian Revolution, but we Children can't fall back to our old ways." He leaned in close so that only Karrinne could hear and whispered, "And the streets are no life for a former cancan dancer." He left her standing in the shadows, surprised.  
  
He kept walking until he heard the music of an unruly bar advertising absinthe and ex-cancan girls. What appeared to be a drunken midget came flying through the window as Christian walked by. A ruffled and quite drunken Toulouse stood up and brushed himself off. He nodded to Christian in a bemused sort of way, then turned in the opposite direction and walked away. Christian shook his head. Toulouse would never change. As he began walking, a voice behind him made him jump.  
  
"How did you know?" Karrinne asked. Christian didn't even stop. Karrinne sped up to keep up with him. She tried again. "How did you know I worked for Zidler?" Christian stopped. He turned slowly and looked at the girl. She was quite pretty, and seemed much older than her age. He made himself forget her beautiful hair and very elegant features to speak to her.  
  
"I was there," he said, "The night the Diamond died." Karrinne looked at him curiously.  
  
"You're Christian, aren't you?" she asked breathlessly. He nodded. Karrinne stood there for a moment, then said, "Satine and I were friends, you know. She, well, she didn't have much time for me, what with Spectacular Spectacular and all that. I saw you with her that night on the elephant, when you sang. I haven't stopped thinking of you since then. I remember thinking, 'If that is the duke, then Satine is certainly lucky.' I thought that perhaps you would marry, when she became an actress, and you would be there all of the time. I thought, at the time, that I was in love with you. Funny that a year ago it was love, and five minutes ago I didn't even recognize your face." She stopped. Christian saw that she was almost crying. An idea came into his head.  
  
"Karrinne," he said, "Perhaps you would accompany me back to my apartment for some tea? I have something there you might like to read." Karrinne smiled.  
  
"Yes, I would like that."  
  
They walked back to Christian's apartment, but when they got there, the landlady was searching for him.  
  
"Where is that confounded Bohemian?" she yelled, exiting the building but remaining on the steps. Christian and Karrinne looked at each other, then hurried noiselessly around the back. Karrinne looked up the wall to the balcony she knew was his.  
  
"How do we . . .?" she asked in a whisper. Christian took her hand and gave her a boost up onto the first ledge that formed footholds up the entire wall. After she had succeeded in climbing onto the balcony, Christian followed deftly after her. He found her standing next to the bird in the wrought iron cage outside of his window. A single tear fell from her eyes and she whispered, "I remember the day she got this." But a moment later, she was fine, turning to walk into the apartment.  
  
She has such composure, Christian thought, she is coping much better than me. He sat her down on the bed and began to unpin the sheets of typed paper from the walls, stacking them so that they made a kind of book. He piled them on the bed and said, "Please, read this."  
  
He paced while she read, sometimes beside her on the bed, other times outside on the balcony, and even listening at the door for the landlady's footsteps. It took her two hours to read the entire manuscript.  
  
Karrinne set the final page aside, tears streaming down her face. She stood up and put her arms around Christian's neck in a friendly, supporting hug.  
  
"Oh, Christian, I had no idea."  
  
When the two broke from their hug, they looked straight into each other's eyes. Karrinne whispered, "You know, I could see myself loving you."  
  
Christian didn't run away. He just looked back into her deep, blue eyes and whispered, "You know what . . . so could I."  
  
As if in slow motion, they leaned in, their lips gently touching, then they kissed, a sweet, loving first kiss.  
  
Christian broke first. He gently pushed away from her, then turned and went onto the balcony. He leaned on the railing again. Karrinne came up behind him.  
  
"I'm sorry, Christian," she said, "I couldn't help it. I had just been thinking about how much the two of us had been through, and how much I used to think I loved you, I . . ." But she never got to finish her sentence. Christian turned around and walked her quickly back into the room. He pulled her to him in a passionate kiss, all the while backing up with some intention behind them . . .  
  
While they kissed, Christian shut and locked the window. 


	3. Moving On

Christian pulled away when Karrinne had removed his jacket and had begun unbuttoning his shirt. He turned to the wall and leaned against it, as if he were doing something terrible and wrong. Karrinne stood still. She had seen this with customers, the feeling of apprehension and of guilt. She decided to let him have his moment.  
  
Christian's head pounded. He didn't know what he was doing. He thought he felt something for this poor nineteen-year-old, but . . . she reminded him so much of Satine. Her hair fell in her face just as Satine's did . . . she smiled in the same way . . . her voice . . . the haunting melody floated into his mind, more distant this time:  
  
Seasons may change,  
  
Winter to spring,  
  
But I love you  
  
'Til the end of time . . .  
  
He exhaled deeply. Karrinne straightened up and smiled. But he didn't turn back around.  
  
"Karrinne, I'm sorry," he breathed, "But I . . . can't. I . . . I . . . I still love Satine."  
  
Karrinne's smiled fell from her face. She didn't move, and didn't speak. Christian didn't move, either, but said, "Please, please leave." Karrinne looked as if she would cry, but instead said, "I'll love your memory forever, Christian." She turned and left. Christian stood with his hand on the wall for what seemed like an eternity before returning to his typewriter. He sat down in the chair and stared out of the window, closed now, and silently cried. For one brief moment, he had thought he could shut her out, just lock the window and remove the pain. But kissing Karrinne had brought everything flooding back in a rush, and it was too much to bear. A love as deep as Satine and I's, thought Christian, doesn't ever go away.  
  
Suddenly, Toulouse's words came back to him. "You don't have to stay here. I believe the ones that we love never leave us. She will be with you always."  
  
I have to get out, he thought, I have to leave. He began to rush around, packing up his things. He stuffed them all around his typewriter in the small bag he had arrived with and turned to open the window and escape. For a moment, he paused and debated taking his manuscript with him. His hand reached out for it, and he quickly placed it inside his jacket, as if he would change his mind. He then went and unlocked the window, pulled it open. But before he could run, he saw the delapidated Moulin Rouge staring back at him. Suddenly, it no longer seemed like a sorrowful being, matching him in his emotions. Now, with its huge, motionless wings, the Moulin looked like a hideous demon he had to conquer before he left. His jaw set, Christian put his bag on the floor and walked out onto the balcony. Quietly, he swung himself over the railing and climbed down to the road. Instead of turning his back on it like he usually did, he pivoted to his right, facing it head-on.  
  
Every step a concious effort, he made his slow way back to the place that had started and ended it all. As if reliving the events of a year ago, cheers, laughs, and voices hit him in a wave as he stepped closer to the cause of his pain. Almost unconciously, he began to sing softly:  
  
"Why does my heart cry  
  
Feelings I can't fight?  
  
You were free to leave me  
  
But you tried to decieve me  
  
And tried to forget me when I said  
  
I loved you . . .  
  
Satine."  
  
Before he knew it, and before he was ready, he was at the base of the windmill that had haunted all his dreams. Without even a glance back, he pushed open the doors and stepped back into a time he had tried to forget. 


	4. Facing Memories

The hinges of the weathered door creaked as he stepped into the realm of the Moulin Rouge. The courtyard, once dotted with trees, lined with lights, and full of laughter and mirth was silent and still, as if even the air were apprehensive. His feet crunched on dead, fallen leaves that were strewn about the ground. Broken wood beams littered the place. Christian tried hard to keep his head clear and eyes open. His heart was pounding in his ears and his breath was shallow as he neared the elephant. The huge monstrosity that stood just ten yards from the entrance of the main building. He stopped just short of the door into the belly of the beast. His breath had quickened and his palms were slick with sweat. After five minutes of staring, he decided that it was too much too soon, and turned instead to go into the performance hall.  
  
It was as if no one had ever bothered to clean up. The performers had left in such a rush to escape the wrath of the Duke that the chairs that had been used during the show were left in the exact places they stood on opening night. The curtains, dusty and moth-eaten, were closed over the stage. Christian looked straight up at the ceiling. He could just make out the outline of a swing in the shadows. A song came into his head:  
  
The French are glad to die for love.  
  
They delight in fighting duels.  
  
But I prefer a man who lives  
  
And gives expensive jewels.  
  
The only reason he even thought of that song was that it was the song she sang the first time he had ever seen her. It was not Satine singing that song that night, but the Diamant Briliant, the Sparkling Diamond. Light was eminating from the windows and casting patches of light onto the floor. His footsteps echoed in the bare hall. He neared the orchestra pit and his head began to pound. This scene was very familiar. He began to sing very quietly:  
  
Come what may,  
  
Come what may,  
  
Come what may,  
  
I will love you  
  
Until my dying day.  
  
He sang as he walked, until his voice dropped to a simple hum. Suddenly, he was standing only inches from the musty curtains. Afraid of what he would find there, he parted them just enough for himself to slip through.  
  
The stage had been swept. Of course. He had been there during her funeral. He had slipped out the back and onto the stage, finding Chocolat there, sweeping away the rose petals that had littered the ground. Thinking back on all this, something white caught his eye in the very center of the stage. He slowly walked towards it.  
  
A single rose petal. A single, dried rose petal, still white, lay on the ground, untouched. Christian bent to pick it up. The moment his finger touched it, the moment it was his, it crumbled. It fell to pieces in his fingers.  
  
With no warning whatsoever, every moment he had spent with Satine began to flash through his mind. Every emotion, amplified, every touch, revisited. Christian fell to the ground, the pieces of flower still clutched in his hand. His body raked with his sobs, his tears forming a pool on the floor.  
  
He lay on the floor for an hour, lying in his own tears, when he decided something. He wiped his eyes, stood up and said to himself, "I have to go into the elephant."  
  
Determinedly he parted the curtains again, stepped through them, and walked back down the aisle. He reached the doors, pushed them open, and walked straight towards the elephant.  
  
He cautiously put his hand on the door, as if it would attack him at any moment. Slowly, he opened it, and stepped inside.  
  
The walls were the same. The decorations were the same. No one had bothered to bring her things down from the beast that ruled her life. Christian could hardly breathe, and most certainly couldn't think as the memories came back all at once.  
  
"I prefer to do it standing."  
  
"Oh?"  
  
"Well, no, you don't have to stand, it's just . . . it's quite long, and I'd like you to be comfortable."  
  
"Thank you for curing me of my ridiculous obsession with love."  
  
"My gift is my song, and this one's for you. And you can tell everybody that this is your song. It may be quite simple but now that it's done I hope you don't mind, I hope you don't mind that I put down in words how wonderful life is now you're in the world . . ."  
  
"The greatest thing you'll ever learn is just to love and be loved in return . . ."  
  
The last thought echoed in his head as he touched the spread on her bed. Everything was covered in dust. No one had bothered to pack anything away. The only things missing were her jewels, clothes, and costumes. Anything of value was gone. Her mirror was smudged with grime, and the make-up on her vanity was still there. Christian delicately picked every item up. Then his fingers fell on an envelope, sealed, with the words Dear Harry written on it in black cursive. Slowly, he opened the envelope, and he began to cry. It was from her.  
  
Dear Harold,  
  
I am writing this letter to tell you what I couldn't in person. I am running away with Christian. I cannot be here any longer. This note is rushed because we're leaving tonight. Please don't try and follow us. Save your precious Moulin Rouge any way you can, because I don't care anymore. I don't even care about being an actress. All that matters is Christian. I love him and he loves me. We will be together forever. Goodbye, Harold.  
  
Satine  
  
Christian's hands shook as he folded the letter, placed it back in its envelope, and the put it in his pocket. He would take this with him.  
  
With a final look around, he turned to the door to leave. He paused with his hand on the doorknob, about to close it, and sang, "How wonderful life is now you're in the world."  
  
The letter in his pocket, Christian shut the door and climbed down and out of the elephant. He walked out of the courtyard without so much as a glance back. He returned to his apartment, picked up his belongings, then left by way of the balcony for the last time. Never again did he see the Moulin Rouge.  
  
He reached the train station in a small amount of time. He stood at the ticket counter, and when the clerk asked, "Where to?", he answered, "London." 


	5. Ending It All

Christian gave the man the money. He took his ticket, then sat on a nearby bench to wait for his train. He straightened his hat, the hat he had worn the day he'd arrived, and pulled out the letter. He turned it over in his fingers, his hands no longer shaking, and smiled. She had loved him. If he never found anyone else, he would be happy the rest of his life. The demons of the Moulin Rouge finally gone, Christian's head was clearer than it had been since he had first arrived in Paris. A small, silent tear worked its way down his cheek. It was a tear of happiness, knowing he finally could move on.  
  
He sat for a half an hour, waiting for his train, just staring at the letter in its envelope. He knew he would always remember her, and she'd be waiting for him in Heaven. A hiss and a cloud of steam signaled the train's arrival before the conductor's yell of, "All aboard!" But meanwhile, he'd live his life any way he could. He tucked the letter neatly back into his pocket, brushing his manuscript as he placed it in the pocket. He picked up his bag, and went to board his train. Just as he was climbing on, a familiar voice called from the platform.  
  
"Christian!" Karrinne cried, running toward him. Christian stepped down off the train and walked to her.  
  
"Christian," she gasped, out of breath. Good Lord, Christian thought, she must have run all the way from Montmarte! She was wearing a traveling dress and cloak, with a hat and bag. "Christian," she tried again, "I couldn't let you leave without saying goodbye." She kissed him gently on the cheek, then smiled.  
  
Christian glanced at her travelwear. "Are you . . ." he began, but Karrinne interrupted him. "I'm leaving on coach to Versaille this afternoon. I have relatives there that know nothing of my, ahem, exploits in the underworld of, um, 'showbusiness.' They have agreed to keep me for a time as I look for a job." She smiled broadly at him, and he smiled back.  
  
"How did you know I was leaving?" he asked. She smiled a coy smile.  
  
"It may have been a year since I relinquished the title, monsieur, but we skilled courtisans never loose our ability to sense what a customer will do next."  
  
Christian smiled at her. Away from the grime of Montmarte and the Moulin Rouge, she was such a bright person. Her smile seemed to invite him to go with her to Versaille, but he knew there could be no possibilities. Besides, he didn't really want to go.  
  
"Monsieur," the conductor said, "We can only hold the train for a few moments longer." Christian nodded. He then turned to Karrinne.  
  
"I suppose this is goodbye, then," he said. Karrinne nodded.  
  
"Yes, it is goodbye. But I'll never forget you."  
  
"Nor I you."  
  
"Monsieur?" the conductor asked.  
  
"Just a moment," Christian said, a bit annoyed. The train started to hiss and steam again - they were preparing to leave.  
  
"You had better go," said Karrinne.  
  
Christian had to do one thing before he left. The last thing he'd ever do in Paris. Swiftly and tenderly, he pulled Karrinne to him, and kissed her on the mouth. He broke off, jumped onto the train, and as it was pulling off called, "Goodbye, Karrinne! I won't forget you!"  
  
Karrinne waved and followed the train to the end of the platform, then stood and waved until she could no longer see the train. A silent tear fell down her cheek, and she touched her lower lip, Christian's kiss still lingering there. She swung her empty bag as she removed her hat and skipped off the platform, returning to her small apartment in the only home she'd ever known - Montmarte.  
  
  
  
Well, guys, that's all. You'll be happy to know that Christian and Karrinne both live happily ever after, each in their own seperate lives. Christian never returns to Paris, and Karrinne never goes to Versailles. He also never sees his family again, and never marries. But, just as he said before he left for London, he would be happy the rest of his life, even if he never found someone else. He never even went to Satine's grave. To have this better explained, listen to "The Show Must Go On," on the second Moulin Rouge CD, and really think about the words. Then you'll understand.  
  
*~Evanne~* 


End file.
